"IT IS MANUEL MARLIN!"
It was a beautiful morning, that which followed, and our friends were
astir early. Wandering out upon the streets, eager to learn if any new
tidings had come of the spy, they soon found themselves walking under
the refreshing shade of rows of ornamental trees. In following this
course, they came somewhat abruptly upon a plaza floored for a wide
space with rare mosaics, and lit at night by swinging electric lights.
"This is the Plaza de Bolivar," said Jack, "a favorite place for the
president's band to come and play. See, there is the statue of the
republic's hero."
Ronie and Harrie had already discovered an equestrian statue, mounted
upon a heavy pedestal, while the rider held with one hand a
straightened rein on his refractory steed, and with the other he
pointed his sword high into the air, as if he would pierce some
imaginary enemy stationed in space. It was a bizarre affair, the
weather-stained image of a horse rearing into the air after the fashion
of some huge rocking-horse. From the bold figure of man and steed
their gaze dropped to the base, where they saw in raised letters the
name of Simon Bolivar, the Liberator of Venezuela. Instinctively, our
Americans uncovered their heads out of respect to the memory of the man
who was not only a great warrior, but a notable statesman, and a poet
of considerable merit. His proclamations to the armies are examples of
masterly eloquence, and as much to be admired as his military genius,
which won for him the applause of the five republics that he liberated.
The statue of Bolivar is in bronze, and is considered one of the most
notable examples of modern art.
When his young companions had tired of looking at the equestrian figure
of the warrior, Jack said:
"Now come with me, lads, and I will show you a sight worth two of this
to you and me."
Without reply, Ronie and Harrie followed their friend until they came
upon a delightfully retired retreat, which, without the bizarre
attractions of the Plaza Bolivar, had a freshness and quiet beauty the
other lacked. Anticipating now what they were to meet, to our young
Americans there was indeed an air of sanctity and hallowed peace that
the more ornate spot did not possess. With reverential steps they
moved silently but swiftly along the clean, graveled path bordered with
deep, green grass and overhung with interlacing branches of the trees
which formed a roof over their heads, until they reached the center of
the plot, where the torrid sun of the tropics beat down upon the head
of the statue they had come to see.
This was the Plaza Washington, and the man honored here was the
American patriot, the Father of His Country, who had been given this
honored recognition in the capital of the United States of Venezuela.
Uncovering their heads, the three stood for several minutes in a
silence that seemed too sacred to be broken, while they looked upon the
calm, benign features of Washington, honored thus by a race they had
not expected would pay such homage. At that very moment, unobserved by
them, a couple of natives a little way off, at the uncovering of their
heads, removed their wide-brimmed headgear, and looked on with
respectful attention. Farther removed, a group of women, dark-eyed,
dark-featured, but not unpleasant of countenance, also paused in their
morning work to watch the newcomers with respectful admiration rather
than curiosity. Evidently these people understood and shared with
these strangers from a far-away land this spirit of national pride and
patriotism, for true patriots always revere the memory of heroes.
"Isn't it strange Washington should be given a statue here?" asked
Harrie.
"Not so very strange," replied Jack, "when you come to think that the
histories of the two countries are so nearly alike, up to the day of
these two heroes, they might be written by the same historian with
slight modifications. Bolivar was the Washington of Venezuela. Then,
too, you will remember that Miranda, the pioneer of patriots in this
country, served his apprenticeship under Washington, fighting for our
country. When he had finished there he returned to his native land to
take up her battles. What he learned with our army helped him here.
"Bolivar had no small task on his hand when he undertook to free five
republics, and who conquered a territory nearly half as great as Europe.
"It is a common practice for the inhabitants here to strew their
garlands of flowers about this place, and once I remember, upon a
holiday, coming here, to find the statue of Washington, pedestal and
base, literally decked with floral wreaths. Never, it seemed to me,
not even in our own land, did the noble countenance of Washington look
grander than here, surrounded by a race that did not speak his
language, but whose hearts beat as patriotically, as if they understood
every word."
"It was a happy thought that they should have sculptured him as a man
of peace rather than of war," said Ronie. "It is more happy in its
effect, as I look upon him, than the warlike figure of Bolivar."
"Very true; at least, from our standpoint. While they did well to
select this phase of his character, no doubt it thrills their hot veins
more to look on the defiant form of their beloved leader. What I have
said of the two men was truth, but similarity stops there. Bolivar had
very much of the savage wildness about him, and he was reckless,
headstrong, and sometimes foolhardy. But his career was a grand one,
as viewed by his countrymen. It was filled with bold, cunning,
victorious marches. His Valley Forge was the torrid jungles and
sun-swept plains of a tropical clime; his Delaware, filled with
floating ice, to be crossed in mid-winter, the broken mountain pass, or
the pathless swamp filled with deadly malaria. Like our Washington, he
came of a distinguished family, and he was educated in Europe for the
court and camp. But, if educated abroad, his love for his native land
never failed, and Venezuela never had a truer son, or a more valiant
fighter for her natural rights.
"Ay, lads, his campaigns were filled with such stupendous feats of
activity and accomplishment as few have ever equaled. Starting on the
seacoast near Pallao, with his foot soldiers and rude cavalry mounted
on mule back, he crossed the continent. The perils of
mountain-climbing and the hardships of the jungle were met and overcome
by his indomitable followers, inspired by his glowing example, living
much of the time on berries and roots, sleeping at night upon the
ground, to free in turn Venezuela, Colombia, Ecuador and Bolivia; then,
sweeping down the Pacific coast, to finally overthrow the empire of
Peru. He was a young man filled with the love of freedom and the fire
of ambition. So little was his heroism appreciated by those whom he
thus met that time and again he was forced to meet the assassin, only
to find himself deserted at last by those whom he had looked upon and
rewarded as friends. So he died alone, of heartaches over the
ingratitude of a people he had led out of bondage. But to-day tardy
justice makes him, as he deserved to be, the hero of five republics."
"Why should his countrymen, after all he had done for them, strip him
of his honors and leave him forlorn and disappointed?" asked Ronie.
"It was owing largely to the inborn fickleness of people of a tropical
clime. Two charges, one directly opposed to the other, were brought
against him. One party claimed, after having rid them of kings, he
tried to make a dictator of himself, with power more absolute than that
of those he had deposed. The other said it was because, upon his
followers asking him to accept such power, he declined and went into
voluntary exile at Santa Marta. Be that as it may, it was nearly
twenty years after his death before there was one bold enough to give
him the place in public opinion that he deserved. He caused an artist
to design a statue that should perpetuate his memory.
"Now we come to see how closely the history of this country is blended
with our own. On the neck of the statue the artist placed a miniature
in the form of a medallion which the family of Washington had given
Bolivar. On the reverse of this was a lock of Washington's hair, with
the inscription:
"'This portrait of the founder of liberty in North America is presented
by his adopted son to him who has acquired equal glory in South
America.'
"You will notice that none of the insignias of honors showered upon him
in his hours of triumph by different countries have been retained by
the artist, this portrait of the Father of Our Country having been the
only ornament it was deemed he would have cared for, as in life he was
prouder of this than all else. So you see, the busts and statues of
the Liberator bear only this tribute, while those of his followers are
decked with glittering ornaments."
"I have read of a very pretty story connected with its presentation,"
said Harrie. "It was during the time of Lafayette's visit to our
country in 1824. A banquet was given in his honor and the memory of
Washington by Congress. In the midst of the rejoicings and tributes
paid to the venerable visitor, Henry Clay arose to say that, while they
were enjoying the fruits of independence, the grand institutions
founded by their patriotic forefathers, there were those in the
Southern continent who were fighting as valiantly for liberty, with
less hope of ultimate victory. Continuing to wax eloquent, the great
orator said:
"'No nation, no generous Lafayette, has come to their succor; alone,
and without aid, they have sustained their glorious cause, trusting to
its justice, and with the assistance only of their bravery, their
deserts and their Andes--and one man, Simon Bolivar, the Washington of
South America.'
"There was wild cheering then, while men sprang to their feet and
clapped their hands. Then Lafayette, the generous, asked that he might
send the Southern hero some token of their sympathy and appreciation of
his valor. The result was, Lafayette sent Bolivar the portrait of
Washington, and it proved a gift the young patriot of the Southland
revered, while his people grew to admire and cherish it."
"True, my lad, and this spirit has spread so that you will see pictures
of Washington wherever you go. Now it is a portrait; then the American
army crossing the wintry Delaware, under its beloved leader; or, the
war over and victory's mantle of peace spread over the land, he stands
before the door at Mount Vernon. You find squares and public houses
named after Washington, with numerous other testimonials of him, all of
which seems very pretty to the visitor from the North."
While Jack had been speaking, his gaze had become turned in an opposite
direction to where the figure of a man was to be seen skulking in the
thicket of flowers. Harrie and Ronie had already discovered the
suspicious person, but had understood that he would flee at the
slightest indication that he had been seen. Thus, before Jack had
finished his speech, Ronie began to retrace his steps, with apparent
carelessness, in the direction of a row of yellow, blue and pink
houses, with high, barred windows, from which peeped shyly dark-eyed,
swarthy-skinned women. But the moment he had passed beyond the range
of the concealed man's eyes, he darted into the shrubbery so as to
intercept the man should he try to escape by flight.
The wisdom of this action was apparent when Jack and Harrie started
toward the spot, when he fled precipitately. This flight, however,
took him right into the path of Ronie, who quickly covered him with his
pistol, at the same time ordering him to stop, which he did with
trembling limbs, to begin to beg for his life.
A good square look at him revealed his identity to Ronie, who exclaimed
to his companions:
"Come quick, boys! it is the spy, Manuel Marlin!"